The Four Loves of Harry Potter
by Spiffing Repartee
Summary: BANK: There is no such thing as true love. There is only: fleeting love, deluded love, gratuitous love and monotonous love. Harry Potter experiences them all in this quartet of one shots. HHr, HD, HR, HG.
1. Fleeting Love

There is no such thing as "true love". In the darkest crevices of our hearts, we all know this.

There is only fleeting love, which flutters by like the little minx she is;

Deluded love, which lures us in with her siren songs, the melodies promising the fulfilment we all crave;

Gratuitous love, bred from the desire to feel _something_; and

Monotonous love wherein now is a hallucination and the past reigns.

So why is it that we persistently delude ourselves into believing that what we feel is true love?

* * *

"Monogamy is overrated, Granger," Draco had drawled into Hermione's ear the first night, igniting passion in her loins. 

She had become as malleable as dough under his touches; no, they were not caresses, as Harry's were; but each stroke held the secrets of a world of dark pleasure and the master sculptor was willing to divulge, who was Hermione to refuse?

Animalistic, there is no other word that encompasses their lecherous liaisons so perfectly. Two animals would meet under the invisibility cloak that was darkness; drawn to one another by animalistic instincts. Pure animalistic physicality. Or at least that's how Hermione rationalised her malevolent infidelity. It was much easier to blame her hormones and Draco's sexual prowess than to admit that, maybe, the profound love she had once felt for Harry was, fleeting.

The two animals heat up the lonely halls of Hogwarts at night. They realise that sooner or later their treachery will be exposed. He doesn't care because he has nothing to lose; he'll more likely be praised for deflowering the Gryffindor golden girl. She doesn't care because it seems too obscure, too far-off to actually be able to affect her- like a ghost's dagger, there, but seemingly harmless. Until the night the wispy outlines solidify into reality.

OOO

A sordid declaration of love escapes Hermione's mouth, "I love you Draco," and falls upon Harry Potter's ears as he makes his way to visit Hagrid. Harry rolls his eyes in incredulity wondering which of Malfoy's latest wenches is professing her love as she comes.

He debates his options and chooses to let out some of his pent-up sexual frustration out on Malfoy; pent-up due to the chastity of his girlfriend, but he doesn't mind because he and Hermione share something deeper than mere animalistic physicality.

Harry strides towards the pants of the spent twosome and sees the back of Draco Malfoy's naked figure. Harry forces out a derisive laugh, "Merlin Malfoy, are the beds not big enough for your exploits anymore?"

Draco laughs sardonically, "why don't we ask Granger?"

Harry stands, as though petrified. His breath knocked out of him by Draco's taunting, silken tones and Hermione's disarrayed face. Disbelief, doubt, comprehension, hurt, anger- what are they but mere emotions breaking a single soul out of a billion? The tears don't mean much as they should have to Hermione, only guilt; she had known what she was doing all along. They mean even less to Draco.

Like a scene from a trite soap opera, Harry yells spiteful phrases spitting out words like, "betrayal", "dignity" and "love", as his glasses fog up from the warmth of tears. Hermione is moved to gush pitiful, hollow apologies as Draco's ejaculation seeps out from her folds.

With a final acerbic declaration, "I hope you two are _happy_ together," Harry runs like a child back to his room. He takes his anger out on his few possessions- burning his books; snapping his Firebolt with a single, solid crunch of his foot. Finally, when he runs out of possessions, and anger, he falls to the floor and is enveloped in exhaustion and emotions.

That night Harry Potter makes his way to Ginny Weasley's room; overcoming the trick-staircase with a simple levitation spell, which he learnt in the first year, but was too virtuous to ever make use of.

That night Harry Potter loses his virginity without the usual hindrances of anxiety and nerves that usually plague those drowning in the lascivious waters of sexual pleasure for the first time. Although he slightly understands Hermione's motives; he does not forgive her.

And in one night Harry Potter learns truths it takes others a lifetime to- monogamy _is_ overrated; animalistic physicality is overpoweringly beautiful; love is fleeting.


	2. Deluded Love

**A/N: To James Blunt's 'Goodbye My Lover' **

* * *

**Did I disappoint you?**

**Or let you down?**

Harry and Ginny strolled into the plush expanse of one the many shops they frequented in the course of redecorating their beautiful apartment. There were many elegant portraits hanging on the walls and an assortment of beautiful sculptures, pots and trinkets were placed in beautiful abandonment around the shop. Harry led his wife to a luxurious red velvet couch, when she protested irritably he simply shook his head in wonder and stroked the large bump on her stomach contentedly.

**Should I bee feeling guilty?**

**Or let the judges frown?**

Harry meandered around the room gingerly fingering some lavish item or other and ran his hand through his hair, bemused at Ginny's insistence to redecorate.

**'Cause I saw the end**

**Before we'd begun**

Then he saw her. She was turned away from him, but her porcelain face was thrown over her shoulder in an enrapturing smirk he could not place. Her fuchsia dress was silky and backless and her feet were bare, but her hands were covered to the elbow in black silk gloves. Her hair fell in a dark chocolate cascade. She was without doubt the most beautiful woman Harry had ever seen.

**Yes I saw you were blinded **

**And I knew I had won**

Harry, as if pulled by a Veela's charm, walked to the woman, who just stood there, with her head thrown over her shoulder, smirking at him. When he reached her realisation suddenly dawned on him, she was a portrait.

**So I took what's mine**

**By eternal right**

**I took you soul out into the night**

Harry called for the shopkeeper and pointed to a haphazard assortment of items and then, feigning nonchalance, Harry pointed to the portrait. The shopkeeper smiled at him forlornly, knowingly.

**It may be over but I won't stop there**

**I am here for you**

**If you'd only care**

Harry hung the portrait in his study the second he got home. Ginny smiled and intoned that the girl's dress brightened the room, and then retreated to their bed room, slightly nauseous due to her pregnancy.

**You touched my heart**

**You touched my soul**

**You changed my life and all my goals**

Harry haunted his study obsessively over the next few weeks under the guise of "work" but simply sat staring at the beautiful girl. She continued to smirk with her strange smile. He wasted hours trying to pinpoint the expression. She looked as if she had just engaged in amorous activity with her lover. Yet she also had a sadness tainting the deep brown pools that were her eyes.

**And love is blind,**

**But that I knew**

**When my heart was blinded by you**

Ginny gave birth a while later and Harry tore himself from the presence of the ethereal woman and tended to Ginny and cooed over his beautiful son, all the while itching to return to the portrait.

**I've kissed you lips **

**And held your hand**

**I've shared your dreams **

**I've shared your bed**

His mania over the portrait drove him back to the store where to his delight there was another portrait of the beautiful girl. She wore a deep blue velvet dress and matching gloves. She was looking off into the distance, with the same anomalous expression. He purchased it without hesitation. Once again, the shopkeeper smiled with an empathetic expression.

**I know you well**

**I know your smell**

**I've been addicted to you**

Eventually Harry had filled his entire study with portraits of the beautiful wraithlike figure. He banned Ginny from entering his study and boarded himself in with the portraits.

**I am a dreamer and when I wake**

**You can't take my spirit**

**It's my dreams you take**

One day a letter came to invite him to a ball held by the creator of the masterpieces. He attended only in hope of being able to attain another portrait. Harry apparated to the location, leaving Ginny at home alone with their son.

**And as you move on,**

And he saw her.

**Remember me**

**Remember us and all we used to be**

She was standing with her back to him, her head thrown over her shoulder in the backless fuchsia dress and black gloves. She smirked at him, but it was tainted with such a pain that Harry's heart ached.

**I've seen you cry**

**I've seen you smile**

That night Harry did not return to his home, to Ginny, to the child. Instead he booked a hotel and spent the night in frenzied passion with the girl, who was immensely more alluring in real life. It was not until the sobering dawn hit and he woke in bed, alone, did he wonder why she removed all clothing but her gloves.

**I've watched you sleeping for a while**

**I'd be the father of your child**

**I'd spend a life time with you**

Harry ran home frantically back to the portraits to see if his dark fears were accurate. He ran into his study to find Ginny weeping on the floor, under the many portraits. He pushed her out violently then began screaming for the portrait to take off her gloves.

**I know your fears**

**And you know mine**

The beautiful girl stared at him, with a heart-wrenching melancholy and slowly obliged.

**We've had our doubts**

**But now we're fine**

Harry gaped at the red slashes across her wrists marring a disgusting black tattoo which looked like silk imbedded into her skin- the dark mark.

**And I love you**

**I swear that's true**

Harry ran to the shop keeper demanding to know where the girl lived.

**I cannot live without you**

"She died during the final battle. After you killed he who must not be named, she killed herself. She was his betrothed."

**And I still hold your hand in mine**

**In mine when I'm asleep**

Harry stood at the beautiful cemetery on the jagged cliff overlooking the sea.

**And I will bare my soul in time**

**When I'm kneeling at your feet**

He broke down his tears pooling on her gravestone, derisively pondering the bitter red irony. He laughed scathingly at the heavens and cursed God with all his might. He cursed God for the fate of the beautiful girl, for his insanity and for wrenching his soul mate from this world, before he'd even met her.

**Goodbye my lover**

**Good bye my friend**

**You have been the one**

**You have been the one for me**

With one final brash, reverberating laugh, he threw the portraits over the cliff and disapparated before they hit the jaws of the ravenous waves.


	3. Gratuitous Love

**A/N: 'Gabriel' /gay-bree-elle/ by Lamb  
**

* * *

**I can love  
But I need his heart**

Intoned the husky whispers of Harry Potter.

**I am strong even on my own  
But from him I never want to part**

The deep timbre wavered ever so slightly with emotion.

**He's been there since the very start  
My angel, Gabriel**

Tears abandoned his eyes, diving for the unrelenting stone, some hitting his cracked glasses; his tattered robes; his dirt encrusted b feet; the shackles which the chafed the skin off his ankles. Harry's ears perked as he heard a soft melodic reply come from the depths of the pitch black dungeon.

**I can fly**

**But I want his wings**

The voice was smooth and evocative.

**I can shine, even in the darkness**

**But I crave the light that he brings**

It washed over Harry, sapping him of energy.

**Revel in the songs that he sings**

**My angel, Gabriel**

The voice finished. The luminescent form of Draco Malfoy stepped into the slivers of moonlight, looking like the very angel from the song. His face was an impenetrable apathetic façade, but his voice still rung in Harry's ears.

"Like the song, Potter?" came Malfoy's silken voice, dripping with sarcasm; too much sarcasm. Harry didn't respond, but simply stared at the first human face he had seen in weeks. "I knew you would, always were a fruit weren't you, Potter? Understandable given that the only females you were ever around were mudblood and Weaselette."

Draco's words, which had once provoked him into casting a horrific curse, did nothing to him now. Harry had seen too much, felt too much, heard too much. He could see through Draco's sneering mask. He could see the beautiful child who was forced to be the way he was, by the cruelty that was life. Harry was exhausted but managed to ask, "why are you here?"

Draco spat, "I wanted to watch you squirm. I wanted see the golden boy, captive of the Dark Lord." Harry searched the mercury depths, but as always there was not a speck of emotion, no trace of a soul.

"Do you feel, Draco?"

"Don't call me that, Potter."

"What do you feel, Draco?"

"Nothing. Because I, unlike you, am a servant of the Dark Lord. Therefore I, unlike you, am not ruled by petty trifles such as emotions. I mean look where your emotions got you, into a bloody dungeon; cursed practically every second of the day; fed just enough so that you can live another day of anguish." Draco turned his face into the shadows, but not before Harry caught the tiny glisten in his eyes.

"Yes, that's true. However, Draco, I unlike you, have lived. I've had people who loved me so much they died for me." Draco's face was still in the shadows.

"Do you know how long you're going to be kept here? Do you not get it? Do you think this is some sort of game? There's no one left to die for you, you'll be here for the next century, Potter."

Harry nodded stoically, albeit wretchedly, "at least I won't have to live my life, killing for a cause I don't believe in."

"Shut it Potter. You don't know anything. You've lived a life with people going out of their way for the boy who lived. You think I had a choice? Dumbledore never gave a hypogriff's hide about me, no one did; even you."

Harry gave a fatigued chuckle, "you didn't exactly make it easy for me either."

"I extended my hand out to you the day we met. You rejected it," his voice rang with resentment.

"True, but can you blame me, Draco?"

"I hate you."

"Why do you sound like you no longer believe it? If you hate me, why are you here?"

Draco turned his face. The moonlight hit it, and his face scintillated as the light danced on his tears. "Goodbye, Potter," he whispered softly. Harry smiled sadly, knowingly, gratefully. Draco raised his wand and a flash of green light struck Harry right on his heart- ridding him of all pain. Draco sung softly, his jarring sobs tripping on every syllable.

**I can fly**

**But I want his wings**

**I can shine even in the darkness**

**But I crave the light that he brings**

**Revel in the songs that he sings**

**My angel, Gabriel**

After a final glance at the crumpled form he callously wiped away his warm tears and smirked sardonically at the fact that he would be the last to die for Harry Potter; then left the dungeon to meet his fate.


	4. Monotonous Love

As Harry and Ron read Fred and George's latest venture, a satirical newspaper, they did not laugh. Their life was a satire.

They were old and weathered- used parchment. Their loins barely ever stirred, even when flicking through the latest 'Play Wizard'. When they chanced upon each other's naked forms, let's just say they gave a whole new meaning to the word vomit. When they lay beside each other in bed late at night, tenderly clasping each other's gnarled hands, their minds would scintillate with memories. For memories were all they had left.

Ron would remember with renewed yearning Harry's muscular form. Harry would feel nostalgia over how handsome and chiselled Ron's face had once been- now it looked as though the sculptor had forgot to fire his work in the kiln, and instead abandoned it to a trash heap and the elements.

The next morning they would wake and read a newspaper about the new heroes that were mentioned. They never reminisced about the days when they were the heroes, the ones reported on, because that would make their tragi-comedic life even more real by contrast. So they contented to continue in their surreal daze.

The day would weave by in a flurried tapestry of tea, reading and chess- Ron feeling only the smallest twitch of triumph when his queen shattered Harry's king; and night would once again reign. They would once more tenderly clasp hands, trying to pretend that they did not detest the calloused folds. When they danced off to the past, the corners of their minds itched with longing, which they futilely tried to scratch away.

On Harry's deathbed, Ron cried not for his old companion, but for the memories of a lover he'd lost long ago. When Harry whispered, "goodbye, my love," he did not see Ron's grotesque face, but his memories.

* * *

Monotonous love is the saddest of them all. For with fleeting love, there is fleeting passion. With deluded love, there is deluded passion. With gratuitous love, there is, gratuitous passion. However, with monotonous love there are only the remote memories and fantasies, which blur more as each monotonous day drags by. With monotonous love, there is only duty and metaphorical shackles, which chafe the soul more painfully than palpable cuffs chafe the skin. 

And that is the reason we are all contented to indulge the lie that is "true love," because the only alternative is loneliness.


End file.
